Old man by the river

The road was quiet after rain,
dust sleeping by the tracks,
I carried nothing in my hands,
just shadows on my back.

An old man by the river
said, “Son, don’t chase the years.”
Then he threw a stone into the dark
and watched it disappear.

I’ve been walking slow,
where the cold wind blows,
with a heart that learned
what nobody knows.
Some things leave,
some things stay,
some things follow you
all the way.

There’s a light behind the window,
there’s a dog out in the yard,
there’s a woman singing softly
to a broken old guitar.

I could knock upon that doorway,
I could call somebody’s name,
but the night keeps moving forward
and the road remains the same.

I’ve been walking slow,
where the cold wind blows,
with a heart that learned
what nobody knows.
Some things leave,
some things stay,
some things follow you
all the way.

When morning finds the valley
and the black turns into blue,
I’ll leave my coat beside the fire
and start the road anew.

No promise in my pocket,
no heaven left to prove—
just another mile of silence
and a little room to move.